


i don’t wanna slow dance

by doespenguinsisgay



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:25:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doespenguinsisgay/pseuds/doespenguinsisgay
Summary: Which, like, look. Tyson isn’t the type of gay to fall in love with every hot guy he sees on the street, but he also kind of is. He just fixates, it’s not a big deal.(or, jt is in a band and they end up as fwb when tyson starts to get all sappy on him)





	i don’t wanna slow dance

**Author's Note:**

> psa if you or anyone you know is mentioned above, please click away and save both of us the suffering!
> 
> hey guys finally got around to finishing a fic for my disaster boys :) thanks for reading hope u enjoy!
> 
> title from slow dancing in the dark - joji (also the song that jt sings for tys is a real song called [human by dodie clark](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=T60XUVrnYt4) and its a whole vibe for this fic)

Tyson isn’t sure why he lets Kerfy drag him out to some dodgy bar in a tucked away corner of Denver when technically he has class the next day, but he goes along with it anyway.

 

He doesn’t see why they couldn’t go to a  _ normal _ club, seriously, the bar they’re at right now requires going down stairs that disappear under the sidewalk and leads them into the basement of an old restaurant, paint fading and bricks worn away so that the facade looks smooth almost. He can’t see into what looks like used to be a glass door, but has since been plastered with washed out posters for events that go back, like, three years ago.

 

Tyson can practically hear his conscience in the back of his head, sounding strangely like EJ’s voice, telling him to just turn around and never come back to this place. Kerfy just rolls his eyes when he expresses his concerns, one hand on cocked hip.

 

“Chill, a buddy of mine is a bartender here, we’re fine. Plus the band playing tonight is supposedly pretty good. We have to stay for at least half their set.” He says finally, his tone telling Tyson that shouldn’t even bother with arguing at this point, so he lets his shoulders droop as he follows his stubborn-ass friend through the door.

 

The bar is surprisingly packed, making it difficult to navigate towards the small, circular table with no occupants in the corner. The only sources of light in the whole place are the tacky neon signs hanging on the wall, behind the bar, and a few lights beneath the small stage near the back of the room. It’s crammed with a few guitars and a well loved drum kit, but their owners are nowhere to be found.

 

Across the room, Tyson’s eyes catch on a man with fiery hair and really,  _ really _ nice arms leaning on a sound system that has definitely seen better days. He climbs up onto the stool and when he looks back towards the man, he’s gone. And like, Tyson isn’t going insane or anything, he swears. Kerfy slaps a hand on the table in front of him, drawing his attention away from the previously occupied speaker. “I’m grabbing drinks, what do you want?”

 

“I’m not partial, just grab the cheapest beer you can find.” Tyson shoots back, settling back against the cement wall behind him. He should probably have better taste in alcohol, but the stuff that he can actually afford tends to all taste the same. It gets the job done, either way. He watches Kerfy lumber away, wading through the crowd, wondering why he goes along with his friend’s antics. Whatever, maybe the music will be good or he can find someone hot to talk to. Preferably the latter, but he’d be good with either, honestly.

 

His eyes drift towards the stage when feedback from one of the mics pierces the air, making Tyson wince. A couple of guys are setting up, and at the front of the band is Hot Redhead from earlier. Cool. Which, like, look. Tyson isn’t the type of gay to fall in love with every hot guy he sees on the street, but he also kind of is. He just fixates, it’s not a big deal.

 

He watches the guy tune his guitar, or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing. He gets a better look at him, a short, kept beard to match his hair, a lip ring settled near the left corner of his mouth that keeps catching the light. The muscles in his biceps shift a little when he adjusts the strap on his guitar, twisting to say something to the drummer, a guy with some  _ sweet _ sleeves, colorful ink curling up his arms. Tyson is overheating, just a little, and he thinks he must be imagining it when Hot Redhead’s eyes meet his own for a split second, before looking back down to adjust the microphone stand. Seriously, where the hell is Kerfy?

 

Tyson’s still alone at the table when Hot Redhead strums one heavy, rattling chord, leaning in towards the mic. He has this fuck-all attitude in the way he moves, lazy, carefree smile gracing his lips.

 

“How you guys doin’ tonight? Thanks for coming out, we’re On The Rocks. If you like what we do, come say hi afterwards, you know the drill.” No, Tyson does not know the drill, but that doesn’t really matter, he supposes. “Let’s go, Mack!” He yells, and the broad shouldered bassist kicks it off with a complicated bassline, then the rest of the instruments join in. Tyson’s buzzing a little bit, from the speakers, he can feel the power chords and the kick drum in his chest. The music is just instrumental for a while, but it’s really good. He can’t take his eyes off of the band’s frontman as he walks his fingers up the long neck of his guitar to create melodies Tyson has never heard before.

 

It gets even better when Hot Redhead starts to sing. His voice is low, a little rough around the edges, but it meshes perfectly in a way you wouldn’t expect, and raises goosebumps down Tyson’s arms. The lyrics are simple and to-the-point, but he kind of likes that style. Kerfy was right, On The Rocks- he thinks that’s what they’re called- is pretty damn good.

 

Speak of the devil, Kerfy appears back at the table at the end of the first song, two drinks in hand. He slides Tyson a can of Budweiser, slipping into the stool across from him. When he opens the beer, it’s a little warm, but he doesn’t give Kerfy a hard time about it, just asks, “Dude, what took you so long? Get lost?” Kerfy goes a little red, shrugging his shoulders.

 

“Talked to my buddy at the bar for a little while, then met this super cute girl who was actually, like, into me.” He explains, nodding towards a woman at another table with short brown hair and literally the same fucking flannel that Kerfy is wearing in a smaller size. Tyson rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to deliver some chirp about the matching shirts, but gets cut off by the next song. He’s happy that Kerfy is getting out there, at least, even if it is some chick in the same flannel, goes perfect with his stupid, flannel-wearing ass.

 

OTR plays a few more songs, all of them decently catchy, and it’s nice. Tyson just lets himself get caught up in the music and the beer and doesn’t think about all of the work he has to do, he lets himself relax for the time being. The band wraps it up with a slower song, it’s just Hot Redhead- he really has to stop calling him that- perched on a stool, cradling his acoustic guitar and plucking at the strings in a warm, soothing melody. It’s beautiful, it makes Tyson feel a little dizzy, and it’s a perfect way to finish their set, he thinks. Even if they  _ actually _ finish with a brief, blood-pumping song that keeps the buzz of the crowd alive.

 

“We should go say hi.” Tyson mentions distractedly, and Kerfy stares at him, eyebrows raised. He starts to squirm after he doesn’t say anything for a beat too long. “Jesus Christ, we don’t have to or anything, it was just a suggestion.”

 

“No, I’m down. I just want you to admit I was right in bringing you here.” Kerfy finally says, and Tyson just groans, hopping off his stool. No way is he going to give him that satisfaction, not yet. Kerfy follows close behind. “Should we buy their album?” He asks, squished up against Tyson as they wait for the groupies to clear out.

 

“Sure, it’s, like, four bucks.” He whispers back, shuffling towards the tiny display of CDs, balanced precariously on top of an amp. Tyson is digging out his wallet when the band’s frontman extracts himself from a group of girls to make his way towards him.

 

“Hi there, interested in buying one?” He smiles, radiating charm and making Tyson’s knees go weak, as he gestures to the box between them.

 

“Yes, please.” He replies politely, passing the man a couple folded bills and picking up one of the albums. “You guys were really great, by the way.” He must sound stupid nervous, or something, because Kerfy laughs in his ear, so he kicks his heel back into his friend’s shin.

 

“Thanks! First time hearing us play?” Tyson nods, fidgeting with the plastic covering on the CD case. “Well, I should introduce myself. I’m JT. Oh, also, that’s Nate and that’s Barbs.” JT points to the bassist and drummer respectively, now leaning against the stage. Even up close, he’s still, like, super hot. Shit. When he doesn’t respond quick enough for Kerfy’s liking, he muscles forward to extend a hand out to JT.

 

“It’s nice to meet you JT, I’m Alexander, and this here is Tyson.” They shake hands, and JT turns to Tyson, hand outstretched. He shakes it, offering a smile he hopes doesn’t seem too strained.

 

“Good to meet you guys.” He says, eyes lingering on Tyson as he pulls his hand away, which makes his heart rate spike for a second. Before either of them can say anything more, the girl from earlier sidles up next to Kerfy, a hand on his chest and everything, saying something in his ear and tugging him away. The two of them slip into the crowd, leaving Tyson to maneuver this situation by himself. JT scratches at his jaw, eyes flicking over Tyson’s shoulder. “I’m gonna try and sell these guys on the album, but if you wanna stick around after, maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink?” JT offers and Tyson can feel his entire body flush, nodding eagerly and stepping around to the side of amp.

 

Now, Tyson doesn’t, like, watch JT or anything, that’d be creepy, but also he totally watches his hands as they sort through a short stack of one dollar bills over the top of his phone as he scrolls through old Instagram posts to look busy. His heart is starting to knock against his ribcage as the conversation seems to drag out for much longer than necessary. Finally the guys leave with their albums and a link to the band’s website, and JT turns his full attention of Tyson so fast it almost knocks him over. “So about that drink.”

 

They end up settled at the end of the bar, the two of them nursing a beer respectively, as JT leans into Tyson’s space. He’s close enough that Tyson can smell his woodsy cologne and can study the way the neon signs cast weak shadows across the man’s face. The light bounces off of his lip ring, a thin strip of metal that his tongue can’t seem to leave alone, drawing Tyson’s eyes to the gleaming silver against pretty pink lips every time he pulls it between his teeth.

 

“So, are you guys from around here?” Tyson asks conversationally, angling his body towards JT, their knees pressed warmly together. The man swallows the sip of beer in his mouth, licking his lips and yet again grabbing Tyson’s attention. He swears he’s going to have an oral fixation by the end of the night if this continues.

 

“Yeah, we’re based here in Denver, but we do a fair amount of touring around, trying to book as many places that will take us, you know?” JT explains, tracing the edge of the bar with his thumb. “We were in Canada for a little bit, just got back from Edmonton.” Tyson beams at that, the thought of home after having been away for so long.

 

“No kidding, I’m from just outside of Edmonton.” He tells JT, unable to fight the smile that curls deep into his face, pulling at the corners of his mouth as he’s reminded of his hometown.

 

“Wait, for real? Well, you’re a little ways from home.” JT shifts forwards slightly, leaning farther into his space, forearm warm against Tyson’s back, where it rests against the back of his barstool. “What’s a good Canadian boy doing all the way out here in Denver?” Tyson goes a little pink as JT subtly lowers his voice.

 

“School, I guess. I kinda wanted to work in the States after college, and I ended up here for now.” Tyson shrugs, spinning his glass in his hands. He can predict that the conversation is going to fizzle out pretty soon, which can lead to one of two things. And Tyson doesn’t intend on going home alone. So, he looks up at JT through his eyelashes and coily suggests, “I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but do you wanna get out of here?” JT’s eyes widen and he knocks back the rest of his beer, fumbling for the wallet in his pocket.

 

“Thought you were gonna make me work harder than that.” JT teases as he’s ushering Tyson out of the bar, firm hand slotted into the small of his back, stumbling up the stairs in a haste to spill onto the sidewalk. Tyson tosses an innocent smile at him, settling close along JT’s side.

 

“Guess I’m just feeling generous tonight.” They call an Uber, which arrives in record breaking time, and the driver greets them politely and asks for the address. Before Tyson can rattle off the campus and his building, JT offers up an apartment complex. Tyson luckily remembers to text EJ that he’s going home with someone and the address JT had told the driver, which has been their routine ever since Tyson and the rest of the younger guys had started picking up, just to be safe. It’s a little difficult to type out the right words when JT gets a hand on his thigh, letting his hand slide up the inseam of Tyson’s jeans. JT chuckles at the sharp breath Tyson inhales, and it’s, like, ridiculous sexy.

 

Tyson can feel JT’s hand through the denim of his jeans like it’s burning at his skin, branding the inside of his leg with five thick fingers and a wide palm. It drags higher and higher up each time and Tyson does his best to keep the sound of his breathing hidden under the rumble of the wheels rolling over the highway and the hum of the engine. JT brushes his pinky dangerously over the edge of Tyson’s cock, under his jeans, and Tyson has to swallow a whimper. JT leans over to work his teeth at the hinge of Tyson’s jaw, and it feels like they’re never going to get out of this car.

 

They do, eventually, escape the confines of the sedan after what feels like hours, and he’s glad that JT remembers to tip the driver before the two of them unfold themselves from the low-seated car, making a beeline for the double doors at the front of the building. By the time the elevator doors are closing behind them, Tyson is already sporting a semi and probably has beard burn all down his neck, acutely aware of the hand curled around his hip. JT presses him into the wall of the elevator and kisses him breathless.

 

They barely make it inside JT’s place before he’s stepping back into his space, pushing him up against the door and slotting a thigh in between Tyson’s legs. They sloppily makeout for a bit, testing the waters as Tyson runs his hands over JT’s bare arms, slipping his fingers under the loose fabric of his shirt, pushing blunt nails up his back as practiced hands work on his belt. The hot press of their mouths and the slide of their tongues is enough to make Tyson see stars. He’s never kissed anyone with a lip ring before, but he decides then and there that it’s a  _ thing _ for him. JT pulls back just so that they can catch their breaths, undoing the button of Tyson’s jeans and rucking up his shirt. He looks up at Tyson, eyes burning with an intensity that makes his blood run cold.

 

“Bedroom?” JT asks, and Tyson nods desperately, letting himself be pulled through the apartment, losing articles of clothing as they go.

 

-

 

Tyson wakes up in someone else’s bed, body sore and head pounding. He squeezes his eyes shut to block out the harsh white light, streaming in through the windows, feeling across the mattress for another body. He lets himself adjust to the brightness, opening his eyes to an empty space next to him. He searches the room for any clothes to put on, considering the fact that his are probably somewhere in the rest of the apartment. He finds a pair of boxers that could be his and a t-shirt that definitely isn’t, but he figures they’re good enough and wanders out into the hallway, following the smell of coffee.

 

The clock on the kitchen counter reads  _ 8:27, _ so he still has some time before he has to be on campus for his morning class. JT is leaning against the stove, mug cradled between his hands, distractingly shirtless. There are love bites blooming down his chest and Tyson turns red.

 

“Morning.” JT greets, sleepy smile draped across his face. His voice is low and a little rough around the edges, and it makes Tyson’s head swim. “I just made coffee, you can help yourself.” He does help himself, snagging the empty mug near the sink and pouring himself a cup. “Creamer’s in the fridge, if that’s your jam.”

 

Tyson feels a little weird about going through a stranger’s fridge, but he’s so desperate for caffeine and a little bit of sugar that he opens the door and ducks down to search for the creamer anyway. Once he’s content with his coffee and has settled against the counter across from JT, he takes a long sip and glances at the clock again.

 

“I should probably get out of here soon, I have class in like an hour, but last night was… really good.” Tyson says into his mug, drink burning the roof of his mouth but he ignores it as the caffeine melts into his veins and he slowly starts to feel human again. JT grins at him over his mug.

 

“Fuck, yeah it was. Would it be weird if I asked for your number before you left?” He asks hesitantly, rubbing at the back of his neck, biceps straining as he raises his arm up. Heat rises in Tyson’s cheeks and he shakes his head.

 

“No I think- I think that’s a good idea.”

 

Tyson leaves the apartment with a hoodie to keep out the morning chill, a new number in his phone, and an embarrassing shade of red clinging to his cheeks.

 

-

 

They hook up a few times, before they start to fall into a routine. Between their nights spent making out in the muted glow of the TV screen or serving as booty calls, Tyson learns that him and JT are kind of the same person, same sense of humor, same taste in movies, and he really likes hanging out with him, the sex is just a bonus. A really, really fucking nice bonus.

 

Sometimes JT has to travel for gigs, which sucks because sometimes Tyson is in the mood to get dicked down so good that he forgets his own name when JT happens to be four hours away, so he usually settles for a mediocre hook up with the first guy he catches looking his way when he goes out. He always ends up still with an itch crawling under his skin, something close to dissatisfaction, and doesn’t even spend the night. He always ends up comparing them to JT, but he pushes those thoughts to the back of his head and worries about deflecting Kerfy’s chirps when he gets back to the dorm with his shirt on inside out.

 

They aren’t exclusive, Tyson doesn’t think, they’ve never had that conversation before and sometimes JT comes back from a long road trip with fading hickies on his neck. Those nights, Tyson makes sure to leave darker marks along the other side of his neck, or down his chest, or on his hips. They don’t talk about it. It’s casual, they’re friends. Friends who also occasionally exchange blowies in the stalls of a dingy bar bathroom after one of JT’s gigs.

 

Tyson likes JT right after a good show, buzzing with so much adrenaline that his hands shake, glistening with sweat. He’ll grin so wide that Tyson can’t help but grin back, his voice a little too loud because his ears are still ringing from the amps. Well, if he’s being honest, he likes JT most of the time anyway.

 

They’re sitting on the floor in front of the couch in JT’s apartment on a Sunday afternoon, passing a nearly spent blunt between the two of them, and Tyson feels himself floating, head dropped back against the cushions of the sofa. A hand lands on his knee, but his legs feel disconnected, miles away from his body. JT is talking, but his words sound distant and watery. Tyson swims towards his voice, trying to drift back down to reality, raising his eyes to meet JT’s own.

 

“Lemme show you something,” JT is saying when Tyson’s feet hit the ground again, doing his best to wave away the smoke and the cobwebs clogging his senses. Tyson grins, syrupy slow, nodding his head jerkily. JT shifts closer, holding the blunt up to his lips, not yet touching. “Inhale through your mouth, when I start to blow smoke.” He explains, tapping Tyson’s chin before he fits his hand around his jaw, holding his face close. JT takes a hit, leaning in close so that their lips brush together, barely touching. He slowly exhales, blowing puffy white smoke into Tyson’s mouth, who does what he’s told as he pulls the smoke in past his lips, eyelids fluttering shut. When he lets it escape through his teeth, Tyson opens his eyes again, to find JT inches away, gaze tracing over his face.

 

“That was fun.” Tyson giggles, not moving away, JT staying put as well. Without looking away from Tyson, he drops the blunt into the ashtray, bringing his freed hand up to fully cup Tyson’s face and pull him into a proper kiss. Their lips move together in a slow rhythm, hazy and hyper aware of the other. Tyson places his hands on JT’s chest, pushing him flat on his back without breaking the kiss, little heat to the movement, settling on top of JT without any sort of intent. Just to be closer, to get comfortable.

 

They don’t usually just kiss for the sake of kissing, this is the first time they’ve done so, but as the minutes tick by and they kiss until their lips are red and puffy, Tyson feels totally content just doing this, he could go on for hours like this. When they finally break apart, his head is spinning and he presses his face into JT’s shoulder. They lay like that until Tyson lifts himself up from the floor, his bladder becoming too insistent to ignore any longer. JT lets out a noise of protest, but lets him go as Tyson stumbles to the bathroom.

 

When he reappears, JT is nowhere to be found and the rattling of dishware is echoing through the whole apartment. Tyson finds him standing in the kitchen pouring himself a bowl of cereal, like a whole nerd. JT looks up, chuckling at the look that much be taking up Tyson’s face.

 

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch is the best cure for the munchies, fuck off.” He defends himself and his snack choices, rooting around the fridge for the milk. Tyson laughs at him and leans against the doorframe, feeling a little like he’s going to melt into the floor.

 

-

 

JT sobers up much quicker than Tyson, so he offers to drive him back to Gabe’s apartment when Tyson explains that his friends would file a missing person’s report if he didn’t show up without any sort of explanation.

 

“I love ‘em, but they’re fuckin’ crazy.” Tyson tells him on the ride to Gabe’s, words slurring together still, but he’s able to form coherent sentences with more than three words again, without sounding baked as hell. He’s no longer feeling the full effects of the high, but he’s in no state to be driving himself anywhere. JT pulls up to the curb in front of the building, placing a hand on Tyson’s wrist. He leans across the console and presses a quick kiss to Tyson’s lips, leaning back with a grin.

 

“I have a gig this Friday, if you wanna come? I can text you the details.” He asks hesitantly, worrying at his lip ring with his teeth. Tyson unbuckles his seatbelt and sets a hand on the door handle.

 

“You know I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll bring the boys, get everyone hooked. They’d love you guys.” He hops down from the raised cab of the truck, shutting the door behind him. He can’t help but look over his shoulder a few times and wave, smiling whenever he sees that JT is still sitting in his truck, watching Tyson with an amused look on his face. He finally drives off once Tyson reaches the front door of the building.

 

When Tyson lets himself into Gabe’s apartment, the guys are all spread out across the living room. Tyson Barrie is starfished out on the carpet, still in his stupid Starbucks uniform, Kerfy clutching a beer and kicking at him from his seat on the arm of the couch. On the other end of the sofa, Sam is lounging in EJ’s lap, lazily scrolling through his phone as Erik focuses intently on the TV screen in front of them, arms looped around his middle and resting a controller in Sam’s lap. His chin is hooked over Sam’s shoulder. Mikko is seated on the floor in front of the empty couch cushion near Kerfy’s feet, holding his own controller.

 

Tyson lays himself out next to Barrie, staring dreamily at the ceiling as he returns the varying greetings he had received when he walked through the door. He can’t stop thinking about earlier, when he and JT had sat in his kitchen and eaten cereal together in a companionable silence, when he had kissed the cinnamon off of JT’s lips. Tyson interrupts whatever Barrie is lamenting about to ask, “did you guys know that Cinnamon Toast Crunch is, like, the best cereal in the fuckin’- ever?”

 

Sam snorts, not even looking away from his phone, and Erik takes his eyes off the screen to fix him with a mildly concerned look.

 

“Josty, man, are you fucking stoned right now?” He asks, pausing the game to narrow his eyes at him, his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement, with a little bit of teasing thrown in for good measure. Gabe takes that moment to enter the living room, hands on his hips.

 

“He’s  _ what _ right now? How the hell did you get here? You better not have driven or so help me, I will take your keys and give them to EJ and you will never see them again.” Gabe threatens, voice heavy with worry. Tyson sits up slowly, head spinning.

 

“He didn’t drive himself, he probably had his new boy toy drop him off.” Kerfy adds from the arm of the couch, and Tyson hates him for his choice of the word  _ boy toy, _ which drags Barrie into the conversation.

 

“Junior has a new boy toy? Why didn’t I know about this, I’m the gayest one here!” Sam makes a noise of protest, but Barrie promptly ignores him. “I get rights to handling boy problems.” Tyson sighs, kind of wishing he’d, like, throw up or something so everyone would stop talking. “Also lay off him, Gabriel, you act like you didn’t literally buy me a glittery bong with Céline Dion’s face on it for Christmas last year.”

 

“Josty doesn’t usually smoke, though, he’s a lightweight. Who is your new boy toy? Do we know him?” Gabe borderline interrogates him, ignoring the ridiculous pout that he’s getting from Barrie, who’s still on the carpet.

 

“Can we please stop saying boy toy?” Tyson pleads, rubbing his hands down his face and opening his eyes to glare at Kerfy, because this is all his fault. “No, you don’t know him, and it isn’t anything serious, we’re just messing around.” He turns a little pink, but is too busy patting himself on the back for not sounding blasted out of his mind when he’s trying to be serious. The guys nod, and the room goes quiet.

 

“He’s a  _ musician. _ ” Kerfy whispers, breaking the silence, and Barrie howls, reaching up to fistbump Tyson.

 

“I fucking hate you guys.” Tyson groans, falling backwards and resuming his position on the floor.

 

-

 

Tyson wakes up at JT’s just as the sun is peeking over the horizon, the sky a dusty pink melting into a deep inky blue, bridged together by pale purples. Clouds hang thick in the atmosphere and it’s painfully early, sleep still weighing down his eyes by his lashes. The apartment is pretty silent, except the buzzing of the air conditioning unit and the faint hum of what sounds like music coming from beyond the walls of the bedroom. Tyson guesses that it’s probably JT, judging by the empty bed next to him.

 

He drags himself out of bed and into the living room, where a familiar freckled back faces him from the couch, defined arms cradling the shape of an acoustic guitar. A slow, two-note melody is plucked from the strings, fading into the room at a steady beat. There isn’t much to the instrumental, but everything starts to come together when JT opens his mouth, letting sweet, simple lyrics tumble from his lips.

 

Tyson watches from the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the frame, careful not to disturb JT as he listens to the peaceful music, letting the song swallow him up, gently brushing through his body. It’s like the closer he had heard that very first night he’d met JT, but this song is different. It’s gentler, more vulnerable. He can’t help the small grin that overtakes his face.

 

“ _ Paint me in trust, I’ll be your best friend. Call me the one, this night just can’t end. _ ” JT sings, low and rough, and Tyson feels the lyrics down his spine in a shiver. He can’t help but want to reach out and hold the words tightly to his chest, in a wish that someday JT would apply them to him. The thought hits Tyson like a ton of bricks, quickly realizing that maybe this isn’t just a casual thing, not for Tyson, at least. He likes what they have, it never fails to make him feel good, but  _ God _ it’d be nice to have more.

 

To not have to share JT with his flings when he’s on the road, to be able to text JT about the dumb things he saw that reminded Tyson of him without worrying if he’s overstepping, to be able to take JT to dumb parties and introduce him as, “my boyfriend, JT.” Tyson goes a little red at the train of thought, drawn back into reality when the strings of the guitar squeak softly when JT puts his hand on the neck, taking a deep breath.

 

“That was beautiful.” Tyson says, stepping forwards to make himself known. JT startles, setting his guitar on the cushion next to him as he turns to look at Tyson. He can just barely make out the shapes in JT’s face in the dim lighting of the living room, the only light from the faded sky and the tops of the streetlamps streaming in from the windows.

 

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” JT asks, voice raw and soft, as Tyson makes his way around the couch. He settles down next to him, their sides pressed together. Tyson shakes his head. 

 

“No, I don’t think so.” He yawns, leaning his head against JT’s shoulder. Tyson lets his fingers drift to his own leg, where JT’s hand rests on his thigh. He gently places his hand on top of JT’s, who turns his palm and interlaces their fingers. His fingertips are rough and calloused from years of playing the guitar.

 

“I just had a thought for the last lyric, I had to get it down on paper before I could go back to sleep.” JT explains, letting his head drop against the back of the couch. “It’s different from the stuff we usually do, the style of it. I don’t know how it would fit into our set.”

 

“I really like it, and I think your crowd will too. The way you sing it, it feels so personal.” Tyson lets the words slip from his tongue, past his teeth. He doesn’t mean to say it, but JT doesn’t react weirdly to it. He doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Tyson’s hand and hums thoughtfully, turning to look down at him. “It’s way too early. Come back to bed?” JT chuckles, kissing the top of Tyson’s head, and everything feels far too intimate, far too gentle.

 

“Let’s go, bud.” He mumbles, pulling Tyson up from the couch and lets himself be dragged in the direction of the bedroom.

 

-

 

Everything falls into place back at the bar where it all started, where Tyson had been more than apprehensive to tag along behind Kerfy but hadn’t regretted following him the moment he first saw JT, leaning against that speaker with his stupidly big arms and stupidly hot face.

 

Tyson settles back at the same table, leaning against the bare brick wall as he sips at the beer in his hand, shamelessly leering at the way JT is setting up his guitar. He glances up to meet Tyson’s eyes, his table isn’t too far from the front of the stage, and shoots him a wink. Kerfy sits across from him, Barrie on his left and Sam on his right.

 

“So show me this man of yours,” Barrie whispers over the glass he’s holding, containing a slush that looks dangerously purple. Tyson couldn’t tell you what was in the drink if he tried. He nods towards the guitarist, before looking back to meet Barrie’s eyes. Barrie follows his gaze, looking impressed with what he sees. “Okay, so he’s a ginger, but he’s hot. Nice job, Junior.” He takes another sip of his drink, watching the stage carefully. He speaks again, startling Kerfy out of his thoughts as well. “Now, what I wanna know is who that absolute beefcake on bass is.”

 

“That’s Nate, he’s cool. I blew JT in his bathroom once.” Tyson tells them casually, finishing off his beer. He ignores Kerfy choking on his drink and tells them, “I need another beer. Anyone want anything?” Barrie and Kerfy shake their heads, and Sam is too focused on the game he’s playing on his phone to notice, so Tyson slides off of the stool he’s balanced on and hikes his way across the bar.

 

As he waits for the bartender to finish up serving a group of women at the other end of the counter, a body sidles up next to him, a warm line of heat pressed against his arm.

 

“Hey there, stranger.” A familiar voice says in his ear, a hand coming up to rest on his hip. JT is grinning at him, lip ring glittering in the dim lighting of the bar. “You look fuckin’- damn.” JT tells him, making no effort to conceal the way he drinks up the sight of him, eyes tracing over each line in Tyson’s body. It never fails to chase a flush onto his cheeks.

 

“I look like I do all the time.” He giggles, resting a hand on JT’s chest. JT leans closer, rubbing his beard against Tyson’s cheek. He’d be more embarrassed about the fact that they’re in public if he wasn’t having trouble forming coherent thoughts with the way JT’s hands are on him, all of his attention on Tyson and Tyson alone.

 

“Gonna play you a song tonight. You gotta be listening.” JT says seriously, meeting Tyson’s eyes. Tyson nods, letting his hands move to hold JT’s bicep. His words are a little slurred and he smells faintly of booze, and Tyson wonders if the band had hit the bar before the show. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

“You know I will.” He says softly, squeezing JT’s arm and turning back towards the bar to order another beer. Someone calls JT’s name, and Tyson figures it’s one of the guys in the band. JT smiles down at Tyson and bravely presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good luck,” Tyson tells him.

 

“Don’t need it.” JT replies cockily, pulling away from him and disappearing back towards the stage. Tyson watches him go, before grabbing the bottle the bartender slides across the counter at him and wandering back over to the table. Kerfy is watching him with raised eyebrows when he gets back.

 

“Are you sure you guys are just messing around? That didn’t look like friends with benefits to me.” He comments with little preamble, as Tyson climbs back up onto his seat. He shoots him a glare, then busies himself with checking the notifications on his phone.

 

-

 

The band is, predictably, crushing it and Sam is, also predictably, already drunk because he’s about ninety pounds soaking wet and a total lightweight. Barrie isn’t far behind, already beginning to lean a little too heavily on the table in front of him. Tyson is doing his best to corral the both of them, which isn’t too hard because Sam has spent most of the night moping and scrolling through pictures of EJ and his horses while stroking the screen sadly.

 

Barrie is about two shots away from climbing up onto the table, already beginning to wax poetic about Gabe’s overtly large head and perfect hair. Tyson rolls his eyes and keeps watch of the stage, where JT has broken away from the microphone to pluck out an impressive solo on his guitar. He wonders if JT had been serious about playing him a song during their set.

 

Tyson looks away between songs to indulge in whatever Sam is saying, barely audible between where his mouth is muffled by his arm, as his head lays on the table, and the soft mix of French and English he keeps switching between, making it nearly impossible for Tyson to follow. He smiles understandingly and nods anyway. Barrie keeps trying to move towards the bar again, but Kerfy holds him by the arm.

 

“Dude, you have half of a drink left.” Barrie stops struggling against his grip and looks down at the glass in front of him, face lighting up.

 

“The universe is too good to me.” He mumbles, holding the glass greedily in his hands, eying the three of them like they’re going to try and snatch it away. Tyson pats him on the shoulder and looks back up towards the band. It’s just JT now, holding his acoustic close to his chest. He deliberately glances over at Tyson, chewing at his lip more nervous than he’d ever seen him before. He looks back down at the strings and begins plucking out a familiar melody, one Tyson had only heard once before.

 

It’s the same song that JT had played in his apartment, early in the morning as the sun had just begun to rise. The gentle music weaves its fingers through Tyson’s core, curling around his bones to captivate him in the same way it had the first time he’d heard it. He’s worked himself into a haze by the time the song has ended and people are applauding, a piercing whistle from the front of the bar breaking Tyson’s trance. JT meets his eyes for a split second, shy smile meant only for him, and switches his guitar out for the one he’d began the show with. Kerfy is watching him with intent behind his eyes, seeing straight through the walls of  _ nothing serious  _ that Tyson has put up around his heart to protect himself, lips pressed together in a thin line. Tyson ignores him and stares into his glass, ears unmistakably pink.

 

-

 

The moment the band has packed up the stage, Tyson is hit with a wave of bravery that rolls through his chest. He sets his jaw, watching the last bits of foam in his glass fizz and dissolve into honey colored drops that stick to the sides of the glass. Barrie slaps a hand down on his shoulder, looking into his eyes with an intensity that makes Tyson’s ears burn.

 

“Shoot your fuckin’ shot, kid, don’t fall into the endless Tyson cycle of pining for a guy until it’s too late and you end up breaking your own heart.” He tells him, like he’s reading his mind, gripping his shoulder tight enough that it stings where his nails pinch into his skin under his shirt. Barrie looks like he’s going to say more, but instead lets his head fall onto the table and his eyes flutter closed. Kerfy sighs, holding his phone up to his ear, predictably calling Gabe or maybe EJ, to come deal with their respective hot messes.

 

“I’ll be right back.” Tyson mumbles, jostling the table in his attempt to climb down from the stool, an urgency willing his feet to go faster. He muscles his way through the small crowd of groupies, almost tripping over the one of the cords from the amps, rounding the corner and running straight into a solid chest. He looks up and is blinded by a familiar grin. Tyson opens his mouth, plans to say something along the lines of  _ I need to talk to you, _ but he ends up blurting, “I think I’m in love with you.”

 

JT blinks, fingers curling into Tyson’s shirt to steady him on his feet. He doesn’t react for a moment, opening his mouth like he’s going to say something, but no sound comes out. Tyson can’t backpedal now, not when he’s already laid it all out on the table between the two of them, so he widens his eyes and smacks JT’s shoulder, a little frantically. “Fuckin’- say _ something!” _

 

“We’re so fucking stupid,” is what JT decides on, hauling Tyson in by the fabric of his shirt and pushing his lips against Tyson’s own. They’ve kissed before, hundreds of times even, but this is so, so wildly different. Tyson kisses back, his face buzzing as JT’s stubble rubs against the skin of his cheeks. A loud whistle comes from behind them, and all of the warmth from JT’s mouth, his body, disappears from Tyson’s. They stay clutching each other when Tyson opens his eyes, but everything is blurry. “I love you too, ya goof.”

 

“You better!” Tyson blinks the fuzziness out of his vision, hands moving up to cup JT’s face, giddily tracing the corner of his mouth with his thumb. JT rolls his eyes and kisses him again. Tyson thinks maybe there’s more to talk about here, but with the way JT’s tongue is pressing at the opening of Tyson’s lips, he can’t board that train of thought for more than a second before it derails.

 

-

 

Later that night, Tyson is curled up next to JT on Nate’s couch, head tucked snugly under his chin, as JT runs a warm hand down his spine. Nate fiddles around on his bass as he chats with a slightly sobered-up Tyson Barrie, who is sitting on the coffee table with his back to the two of them. Kerfy disappeared a while ago to talk cars with Barbs, and EJ had picked Sam up, like, an hour ago. Suddenly, a realization hits Tyson like a pound of bricks and knocks him off his metaphorical feet.

 

“We could have been dating all this time, what the fuck?” Tyson says distantly, pushing off of JT to look at him a little wildly, palms flat against his chest. JT tilts his head from side to side, pursing his lips. His mouth curls downwards consideringly.

 

“We kind of were, weren’t we? We just didn’t ever talk about it.” He points out, shifting back a little more and tugging Tyson down until he’s practically laying on top of him. Clearly, he isn’t as confused by this concept as Tyson is.

 

“But what are we gonna tell people when they ask how long we’ve been together?” He begins on a long ramble, staring into space with the side of his head pressed against JT’s chest, his heartbeat keeping time with Tyson’s words. JT shushes him, putting his hand on Tyson’s face haphazardly.

 

“We’ll figure it out later. Right now, I just want to nap.” He groans, pressing his face into the back of the couch. JT pushes his hand through Tyson’s curls, sending a pleasant wave of warmth down Tyson’s spine, fingernails scratching gently against his scalp. Tyson looks up at JT, eyes closed and blond eyelashes fanned out over freckled cheeks, and his chest tightens up. He sighs happily and burrows heavier against JT, letting himself get comfortable. They aren’t in any rush.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a tumblr! come say hi and yell abt hockey boys with me [here](https://starryandersen.tumblr.com)


End file.
